


Tea and Scones

by Claire



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-22
Updated: 2009-03-22
Packaged: 2017-11-02 03:48:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/364644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claire/pseuds/Claire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They meet in a tearoom in Canterbury once a week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tea and Scones

They meet in a tearoom in Canterbury once a week. When Gabriel once asked why they'd chosen there, Castiel told him it was because it was the spot where a righteous man died in defence of their Father in the 15th century. Aziraphale had added that they also have the best scones in a 50 mile radius. (This may well be because the righteous man who died was St Augustin, patron saint of flour, raisins and strawberries. He was also the patron saint of dung beetles, but nobody liked to talk about that one.)

But whatever the reason, righteous men and scones aside, it is there that they meet, taking the same table next to the window, week after week. There are already two pots of tea and three cream scones waiting for them on the table when they arrive, Mary waving at them from behind the counter. (Working in the tearoom hadn't been Mary's original choice of career, but that had fallen through due to an unfortunate incident in her youth forever marked as _The Chicken Thing_. Still, though, she liked it in the tearoom and got to meet lots of people. She was especially fond of those two lovely gentlemen who came in each Thursday afternoon. They were always polite and left her a nice tip.)

There's silence as they pour the tea. Two sugars and milk for Aziraphale and just milk for Castiel. (Castiel pours the milk into his cup after the tea and Aziraphale is sure his brother only does it to see him wince. There was a time when Castiel knew how to make a proper cup of tea, but that was before an American vessel and a man called Dean Winchester.)

"How's Adam?" Castiel asks, as he has asked every week since the previous time the Apocalypse was averted.

"He's good. It was Elizabeth's school play last week."

(Aziraphale's not entirely sure if he should be attending the school plays of the daughter of the Anti-Christ, even he was now just a dentist in Lower Tadfield, but Elizabeth had been given a speaking part in this one - "You need to go down _that_ road!" she had declared, with the enthusiastic enunciation only an eight year old can have - and Crowley had brought jelly beans, so he couldn't really have said no.)

"How's Dean?" he asks, swiping his finger through the clotted cream on top of the scone and licking it.

Castiel puts his teacup down. "Dean is--" The words trail off. "He's stubborn and reckless and infuriating and throws himself into danger without thought. He's-- he's _Dean_ ," Castiel finally finishes with.

(And although Castiel has never given voice to it, there's a part of him that believes Dean is entitled to be stubborn and reckless and infuriating. He did, after all, stop the last Apocalypse that nearly happened. The Morningstar had shone out of Sam Winchester's eyes and Dean had stood before him. Stood before Lucifer and managed to reach _Sam_ when everyone else believed all hope was lost. And the Brothers Winchester had cast the Fallen back into the Pit, the cry of _You bastards--_ still echoing as the doorway to Hell had slammed shut behind him. So, yes, he's allowed to be stubborn and reckless and infuriating. The throwing himself into danger without thought thing, though, Castiel still has a problem with.)

Silence meets Castiel's words, and when he looks up, it's to find Aziraphale looking at him with amusement.

"And yet you still asked to be stationed on Earth. You were given your choice in all the Heavens, and you chose stubborn and reckless and infuriating over it all."

Castiel blushes and Aziraphale laughs, low and melodic and the flowers on one of the trees outside start to bloom early.

"Ah, so something _has_ changed since we met last week."

(Because Aziraphale is entirely understanding of how stubborn and reckless and infuriating can change into something else. He glances down at the last cream scone on the table and wonders if Crowley is back from Haversham yet.)

He reaches out, laying a hand over Castiel's. "You're allowed to want something for yourself, Castiel; to _have_ something for yourself." He lowers his voice. "Now, tell me, have you shown him the wings yet?"

"Aziraphale!" Castiel's tone is almost scandalised. (And Aziraphale sometimes forgets how much younger his brother is, forgets how much time Castiel _hasn't_ spent on earth.) But still, there's something there.

"You have!"

The deepening of Castiel's blush is the only answer Aziraphale needs.

(Aziraphale isn't wrong in his assumption. And Castiel feels more than a blush when he thinks of his wings running over Dean's body and _yes_ and _please_ and _Cas_ falling from Dean's lips.)

"Bring him next week," Aziraphale says, patting the back of Castiel's hand. "I want to meet this man that I've heard so much about."

(Castiel looks faintly terrified at the prospect, but Aziraphale's pretty sure that if Dean Winchester can avert an Apocalypse then he's more than capable of handling meeting the in-laws.)

"Bring him next week?" Castiel repeats before he nods, more to himself than to Aziraphale. "Yes, I will. I-- _want_ him to meet you, Aziraphale." (Because Dean's only ever seen Angels at their worst, fighting for Heaven and willing to sacrifice what was necessary, willing to sacrifice _who_ was necessary. He has never heard Moriel's song joining with the cherubim, has never seen Raphael dance across the skies of Shamayim or Lepha joining him, laughter in her voice. He wants Dean to know his family as he knows them.)

Castiel touches his fingers to Aziraphale's cheek and then he is gone, leaving the old woman at the table near to them staring in surprise at the space left by a young man who vanished in a rustle of wings. (Until a second later and a slight movement of Aziraphale's fingers, when what she remembers is the gentleman who had been sitting next to the window saying goodbye to his friend and leaving. Through the door. And without the sound of wings. And because Aziraphale isn't really concentrating, she'll also _remember_ the lottery numbers for the Saturday night draw in two days, making her the Lotto's oldest multi-millionaire and allowing her to see out the rest of her days in the Bahamas being attended to by a lovely young man called Raymond.)

Picking up the cream scone still sitting on the table, Aziraphale waves goodbye to Mary and heads outside, narrowly avoiding the woman who nearly knocks him over with the pram she's pushing into the teashop.

"Sorry!" she says. "I didn't hit you, did I?"

Aziraphale shakes his head. "No, my dear, I'm fine." And then he turns back to her. "You really should try the cream scones, they're quite delicious." He should know, it's the reason he and Castiel come here every week. Every week for tea and scones. They were here last week and they were here this week and they'll be here next week.

But he thinks that next week they'll be at a different table, one that sits four this time.


End file.
